It seems Flea is wondering if perhaps I, too, was stricken with the RedEye Curse that caused her to break her toe and Justin Kaufmann to get a speeding ticket after being featured in yesterday’s paper. The answer is no, because, clever me, I didn’t even READ the RedEye yesterday. I’d seen the cover online and I’d meant to get a copy, but I work in the surburbs where I couldn’t just run out to a newsstand. I knew l’d see it eventually because my boyfriend picked up a couple copies, so I didn’t go out of my way to find one and bwah hah hah, I CHEATED THE NEWSPRINT-SMEARED HAND OF FATE, SO THERE.
If you’re not coming from the RedEye, perhaps you’ve somehow made your way here from a link in a a Salon article which referred to the ’74 Recipe Cards. It’s nice to have a nod, though I can’t help wishing that for all the attention Salon has been giving fat people they’d notice my book, too. Moreover the last pargraph of this article bugs the hell out of me from the way he felt compelled to describe a newly widowed woman “gnawing away” on a cake and “smearing icing down her chin” just because she happened to be bereaved while fat and at a Jenny Craig center. Because see, the fatties, they grieve, too. Really, it’s lovely that Dale Hrabi is touched by our chubby, grease-stained humanity, even if it is “a bit gross.” Oh, for fuck’s sake.
The revamped Poundy.com is just days from launching, as soon as the Moveable Type-Wrangler works out some kinks and I eat three or four whole roast chickens or something.
I read in Oak Park on Thursday! It’s freaking me out a little, since it’s my hometown. Maybe more on that later.
